


Words of Admission

by okaybi



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 5 + 1 Things, 5 Things, Accidental Cuddling, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Car rides, Civil War Team Iron Man, Cliche, Crushes, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dialogue Heavy, Disney Movies, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Genius Harley Keener, Genius Peter Parker, Harley Keener & Peter Parker Friendship, Harley Keener Flirts, Harley Keener as Iron Lad, Harley Keener is a Good Bro, Holding Hands, How Do I Tag, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Reveal, Idiots in Love, Jealousy, Lab Mishaps, Lorde - Freeform, M/M, Misunderstandings, Music, Nightmares, Peter Parker Has Nightmares, Platonic Cuddling, Playlist, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Sad Peter Parker, Sharing Clothes, Slow Dancing, Tony Stark Acting as Harley Keener's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, exhausted peter parker, for like two sentences sorry it was right here, i've been listening to melodrama way too much sue me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:27:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23522299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okaybi/pseuds/okaybi
Summary: Harley and Peter find themselves falling into friendship surprisingly easily after a bit of a rough start; falling in love with each other is easier.Alternatively, five times Harley or Peter apologize to the other and the one time neither of them do.
Relationships: Harley Keener & Peter Parker, Harley Keener & Tony Stark, Harley Keener/Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 34
Kudos: 449





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I will try to update weekly but we'll see how that goes
> 
> Hope you enjoy it! :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harley and Peter find themselves awake and on the roof at ungodly hours of the night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> s/o to levesqueen for beta reading this :)

The roof of Stark Tower is home to Harley nearly every night of the week. 

It's always been comforting, the feeling of being encased in darkness. Especially when it was nothing but the night sky above him and the soft grass of Rose Hill below him. Now, though, there's light constantly surrounding him. Even in the dead of night. He supposes that's why it's called the city that never sleeps. 

Still, it's nice to breathe the air in and see the lights, if he ignores the fact that they're not stars, that is. Which, he typically does. Harley has to admit, the view is breathtaking. 

The clock has long passed any time that is socially acceptable for someone—that's not him obviously—to be awake and moving about. Besides, it's not like anyone has ever bothered Harley on the roof before, or would know to bother him on the roof. God, if Tony knew he'd mother hen Harley to death. For being up so late and for coming up to the roof to begin with. Harley can hear his voice now, yelling about how many stories the fall from up here would be. 

"Hey." Harley's head whips around at the quiet voice, nearly jumping backwards. 

Relaxing when he sees it's just Peter, Harley shakes his head. "Nearly gave me a heart attack."

Peter winces. "Yeah, sorry. I didn't mean to startle you." 

Harley snorts out a disbelieving laugh. "What did you expect?" He asks. 

Considering, Peter shrugs and says, "Good point. In my defense, I thought you would've heard me walking up."

Leaning back onto his hands, Harley looks up at Peter, who is still standing halfway across the roof as if he's afraid to move any closer. Now that he looks, Harley can see the way Peter fidgets, how his eyes keep moving, never resting on one point for long. They may not be close, but Harley isn't an asshole, and Peter obviously needs to talk. Or just to sit with someone. Whatever, the specifics don't matter because Harley won't make him leave no matter what. 

"Ya gonna come sit or just stand there?" Harley questions, uselessly scooting a little to the side. 

Peter pulls the sleeves of his sweatshirt over his hands before cautiously walking over to Harley. He sits down, pulling his knees to his chest and resting his chin on top of them. He's void of his usual boundless energy and chatter, quietly staring out at the skyline. Harley decides he hates it, that he misses Peter's bubbly personality and stupid puns even though he's stated many times that he finds it all annoying. 

Harley observes Peter silently, hoping maybe he'll snap out of it in a moment. He doesn't. "I didn't know anyone else came up here," Harley comments, voice light.

Turning his head to meet Harley's gaze, Peter now rests his cheek on his knees. "It's one of my favorite places here," Peter says with a forced little half smile. 

"How come I've never ran into you before?"

Peter gives a noncommittal shrug, eyes haunted and distant and all Harley wants is to make this look fade off his face. It's unnerving, seeing Peter's expression so dull. He wonders what could have brought Peter—bright-eyed, inquisitive, babbling Peter—to this shell version of himself. Perhaps this is what Peter always carries on his shoulders, holding the weight without so much as a wince to indicate it was pulling him down. Harley pushes the thought away, forcing himself to believe that it's not true. 

Eyes fluttering shut, Peter finally answers, "This is where I normally come when I can't sleep—or get back to sleep. Here or the lab. But I knew you've been coming up here often so recently I've just been going down to the lab."

"You could have come up here, I wouldn't have minded. I don't mind."

Another shrug.

"I'm sorry I've been such a dick to you," Harley blurts out. The silence was drowning him and he couldn't help but think it was doing the same to Peter. Besides, he really did need to apologize for being a jerk. He may not have been outright unkind, but the one-word responses and refusal to start conversations—or carry them on if Peter started them—was fairly telling.

Peter lets out a startled laugh, eyes opening again. The sound is a little strangled, and definitely not the loud, happy one Peter normally has, but it's a start. It's a start. 

"Seriously, I've been real rude and I shouldn't've been. My mom would be giving me that disappointed look she's got if she knew I've been treating you like this. Especially, 'cause you've been nothing but kind to me." It's true, Shelly Keener would already be telling him that he needed to put his head back on his shoulders and rein in his jealousy. 

Shrugging again, Peter just says, "It's alright. I forgive you." 

Harley thinks Peter would forgive just about anyone anything. He tells him so too.

Laughing, an actual laugh this time if a little quiet, Peter looks back up at the sky. "Yeah, probably. Mr. Stark says that all the time. That I'm too forgiving." 

Tony would say that. Him and Harley are alike in that way, prone to hold grudges against people that have wronged them. Peter, though, Peter would be angry, sure, but he'd likely just let it go. No vendetta, not for him. 

"I really am sorry," Harley repeats, because he is. "I was just... I was just jealous. You and Tony are... Well I'm sorry. And I'll be nicer from now on."

To Harley's surprise, Peter doesn't look happy about that. His eyes have taken on that hard look again, and Harley doesn't know what he did but he wishes he could take it back. "I don't want your pity," Peter tells him, disgust dripping from the words.

Harley goes to protest, but Peter cuts him off. "Don't tell me it's not pity. I come up on the roof, probably looking like I'm dead inside, and you apologize? I'm not stupid, Harley." 

Of course he's not, he's fucking brilliant. Not that Harley's ever told him that before, even though he's thought it plenty. 

"No pity here, I promise. I've been meaning to apologize for a while, so now I have. That's all," Harley assures him. 

Peter's shoulders relax a little, and he uncurls from the small ball he's made himself into. "Okay," he says slowly, "I accept your apology." 

Harley hears himself let out a gust of air, feels the way his body becomes less stiff. Maybe they could be friends, which would be a nice change from their awkward lab time with both of them unable or unwilling to break the silence. It would certainly make Tony happy, who has been stressed beyond belief about the boys getting along with each other. Not only that, but Harley finds that it'd make him happier, too, if they got along. Interesting. 

A thought strikes Harley. "Why couldn't you sleep?" He asks, then quickly adds, "Or why couldn't you go back to sleep?"

Training his eyes on some faraway point, Peter appears to consider his answer. Or whether he wants to answer at all, maybe. Harley isn't exactly an expert on Peter's facial expressions. 

Eventually, a little puff of air leaves Peter, and he completely unfurls from his position and instead lays down on his back. "Nightmares," Peter says, voice a little unsure as if afraid to share this piece of information about himself with the boy sitting with him. Harley can't blame him, after all, he wasn't necessarily receptive of Peter until now. 

"Oh, do you wanna talk about it?" Harley offers, knowing that sometimes it's good to discuss these things, but other times it just makes it hurts all over again. The last thing Harley wants to do is add insult to injury. He figures giving Peter the option is the best route, in any scenario. 

Shaking his head, Peter traces patterns in the sky with one of his hands. 

"Okay," Harley says. Then, "Do you draw? Or paint or something?"

"Yeah, why do you ask?" Peter answers, head coming up from its place of rest to stare at Harley in confusion. 

Chuckling, Harley waves a hand to encompass Peter's arm, which is still outstretched with his fingers dancing over patterns Harley can't see. It's too dark to be sure, but Harley thinks he sees Peter's cheeks tint once he catches Harley's meaning. Immediately, Peter lets gravity pull his arm to his chest, looking for all the world like he just got caught sneaking a cookie out of the jar before dinner. "Right, that." Peter's eyes are flitting between Harley and the sky, bottom lip caught between his teeth. "I draw. Well, I sketch. I'm not all that good," he admits. 

Taken aback, Harley catches Peter's gaze. "Peter, I doubt there's anything you're not good at." Harley's voice is serious; he means it, even when he hadn't wanted Peter to do something well, Harley could recognize that he did. 

Peter scoffs. 

"No, really," Harley presses, "You're a genius, and weirdly good at cooking-"

"That's just chemistry," Peter interjects, amusement evident in his tone. 

Now it's Harley's turn to scoff. "If it was 'just chemistry'," he says, voice mocking, "then I would be able to do it." 

"Oh?" Peter asks, sitting up. "Are you trying to imply that you're good at chemistry? _You?_ Mr. I don't know what this chemical is but I can find out by mixing it with this one to see if it explodes?" After ending his rant with a disbelieving hum, Peter once again rests his head on his knees. 

"It's a valid way to find out!" Harley insists indignantly. 

Throwing his hands in the air, Peter exclaims, "So is reading the label or asking someone who knows! Did you ever think of that, cowboy?"

Harley smirks at the silly nickname. "Of course I did, city baby. But what's the fun in that?" 

"You're unbelievable," Peter huffs out. 

Taking a mini bow as best he can from his seated position, Harley says, "I will take that as the compliment that it is."

Peter rolls his eyes, though there's a broad grin on his face he can't seem to wipe off. Harley takes that as a win, because this expression is a far cry from the vacant one that Peter was sporting just a little while ago. "You're just like Mr. Stark, you know," Peter comments, surprisingly fondly. 

"Hey, don't go comparing me to the old man, I'm much handsomer. Smarter, too. Besides-" 

"Yeah," Peter interrupts what was sure to be a beautiful tirade on all the ways Harley surpasses their mentor/father-figure, "just like him."

"Besides," Harley continues with a pointed glare at Peter, "if either of us is like him it's you. Genius IQ, too self-sacrificing for your own good, horrible sleeping habits, penchant for forgetting when to take a break or eat even. Tell me, am I talking about you or Tony?"

Mouth opening to dispute it, Peter must find that he has no argument because his lips immediately snap into a thin line. His eyes, though, look like he's trying to cut right through Harley with that piercing gaze. 

Hands up in the universal 'I surrender' pose, Harley laughs. "Don't get mad at me for being right, city baby." 

Peter pouts. It's adorable, and Harley hates that it makes him want to pull the other boy into a hug or give Peter anything he asks for. "No fair," Peter whines. 

Harley just grins at him, completely unrestrained. Peter, apparently not used to the attention, ducks his head before returning to watching the sky. Harley's surprised to find that the sky is changing from the dark of night to the pastel colors of the early morning. Have they really been up there that long?

"It's lovely," Harley says in awe. He's never stayed up on the roof long enough to see the shift from night to day. 

Silently, Peter comes to sit right beside him. "I wish I could paint it," he whispers. 

Next to him, Harley takes his phone out from his pocket and snaps a quick picture of the dawning day. Looking over, he realizes Peter's watching him with a small, charming smile. "There, you can paint it later," Harley simply says. "Now c'mon, we don't wanna give the old man a heart attack if he wakes up and can't find us." Rising to his feet, Harley stretches, then strides to the door back into the building. 

"Bold of you to assume he ever went to sleep," Peter quips, already following after him and drawing another giggle out of Harley. 

They walk the rest of the way into the Tower in silence, but it's comfortable this time. This morning feels almost like a truce, a way of saying they'll be better to each other now. Watching Peter fiddle with the sleeve on his sweater, Harley ends up hoping that their newfound tentative friendship lasts. And possibly turns into something more in the future. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harley and Peter learn a little bit more about each other.

Sitting on the couch in the living room, Harley scrolls through his phone. He's bored out of his mind. Peter hasn't shown up yet to finish their joint experiment in the lab and Harley isn't sure whether to be worried or upset. He settles on a mixture of both.

There's the ding of the elevator, and suddenly a figure is stumbling into the penthouse living room. Harley jumps from his perch on the sofa, wildly trying to find out who's in this part of the Tower and why. To his surprise, it appears to be Spider-Man. Or an extremely good cosplayer. What's even more astounding, is that Spider-Man isn't wearing his mask. Although, Harley is unable to make out his face because his chin is tucked to his chest. 

The curls, though, look oddly familiar. Probably a coincidence, Harley decides.

"What the hell?" Harley asks. Superhero or not, there's no way Harley is going to just let him go without getting some answers first. 

Spider-Man's head snaps up; he's still taking slow, uneven steps, almost as if he's drunk. Except, that's Peter. Spider-Man, the one standing right across from Harley now, is Peter. Peter is Spider-Man. Harley's mind is screaming a constant loop of 'how in the fuck'. For a second, all he can focus on is that the boy he's been slowly building a friendship—an actual, hang out because we want to friendship—with is a goddamn superhero. Then, he snaps out of his daze. Sees the way Peter's eyes droop, how his shoulders hunch over, and his feet fail to carry him. 

Okay, freak out about Spider-Man later, help Peter now. 

"Peter? Are you hurt?" God, please don't be hurt. Peter shakes his head. "Alright, do you need anything?"

Falling forward in an attempt to get to the couch, Peter ends up being cradled in Harley's arms. "What's wrong, Peter?" Harley tries again. There is no protocol in his brain for this; maybe he should call Tony?

Just then, Peter mumbles a shaky, "'M fine. Jus' ti'ed."

Harley chuckles a little despite the situation, shaking his head. Of course. Peter's half dead of exhaustion from trying to help people constantly as Spider-Man, and he chooses to say he's 'Just tired.' 

Picking Peter up, Harley walks them both over to the couch. Carefully, he lays Peter down, and goes to get a blanket for him. However, that's proven difficult as Peter clutches onto his hand. His grip is deceptively strong for someone in Peter's size and weight category. Right, Harley remembers, Spider-Man. He supposes that comes with super strength. "Stay," Peter says. At least, Harley thinks that's what he says but it's a tad difficult to tell with the way he's half out of it and slurring his words. 

A hand runs soothingly through Peter's hair. "I'm just going to grab you a blanket, spider baby," Harley whispers, a little embarrassed about letting the nickname slip out. 

Peter hums. "M'kay," he says eventually, releasing Harley from his near death grip. Harley takes the moment of reprieve to speed walk to the hall closet and grab the softest blanket, the one he's seen Peter snuggle into on countless movie nights with Harley and Tony. When Harley makes it back to the sofa, he gingerly lays the blanket over Peter's curled up form. Considers for a moment, then tucks the edges around Peter so the blanket won't fall off of him. 

Harley finds his phone on the edge of the arm of the couch and takes it with him to the armchair over to the side. He tries to get to the armchair. The previously assumed sleeping Peter latches onto Harley's arm. Tugs. A force that exceeds what Harley had been prepared for propels him on top of Peter. 

Sighing, Peter lets go of Harley's arm only to wrap his own arms around Harley's stomach. 

"Peter," Harley says, "Peter, I gotta be crushin' ya." 

A shake of the head against Harley's chest. 

"At least let me-" Harley begins, before deciding fuck it. It's easy—Peter weighs next to nothing—to maneuver Peter on top of Harley. Almost immediately, Peter nuzzles his head into the crook of Harley's neck, letting out a puff of air against his skin. Harley resettles the blanket on top of Peter like a fussing mother. How did they get from lab time in which they rarely spoke to each other to _this_. 

"Thank you," Peter whispers. Harley shivers at the feeling. 

It only takes moments for Peter to fully drift into unconsciousness. As soon as he's out, Harley finds that he's once again bored out of his mind. He attempts to reach his phone but it's stuck under Peter and Harley doesn't want to accidentally jostle him awake. 

"FRI, can you put on a movie please?" Harley eventually asks; maybe this will keep him occupied for a bit while the spider baby gets some much needed rest.

"Of course, Potato Child." Rolling his eyes, Harley huffs at his programmed name. Stupid Tony Stark and his endlessly stupid nicknames. "Which movie would you like?"

Harley hums. "Tangled," he decides. 

Once the movie begins, Harley tries to focus on it, to follow along as the plot—which he knows by heart, having seen this movie millions of times—unfolds. But he finds that he can't. His brain takes every opportunity to consider all the times something happened that could have been Spidey related. One second he's watching Rapunzel run barefoot on the grass outside her tower and the next he's zoning out as questions form in his head, bouncing around and screaming and demanding he voice them. Utter chaos. Harley shrugs to himself, chaos is nothing new. 

Vaguely, Harley registers steps coming from the hallway. He figures Tony is on his way either to the lab or a meeting, seeing as nobody else is up in the penthouse at the moment. He pauses the movie just as Tony appears in the doorway dressed in a three piece suit. Definitely a meeting then. 

A few steps into the room, Tony sees Peter, draped across Harley as if he's the sofa, still in his suit. He slows to a stop, meets Harley's gaze with a quick quirk of his eyebrow. 

Smiling a bit, Harley says, "He got here about 20, maybe 30, minutes ago. Said he's just tired."

Tony scoffs. "FRIDAY, is he injured?"

"No, boss, it appears that the spiderling is truly just exhausted." 

Shoulder's visibly relaxing, Tony strides to stand behind Harley. He cards his fingers through Harley's soft, blond hair for a moment, before moving away. Tony pulls the blanket more securely over Peter, careful not to wake him. "He works too hard," Tony says with a sigh. "Did you know about," a hand waves to try and convey all of Peter's vigilante ways, "all of this? Before today, that is."

A harsh laugh escapes Harley. "Fuck no. He just tripped his way in here, mask off, and started tryin' to make his way to the couch." 

Tony shakes his head, both in exasperation and fondness. "Yeah, that sounds like him." He claps a hand on Harley's shoulder. "Don't be too hard on him when he wakes up. He'll probably be freaking out already because you know now."

"I'll do my best." 

"That's all I can ask for." With that, Tony grins and stalks to the elevator, mumbling something about how he has board members to piss off. 

"Hit play please, FRIDAY." Harley melts into the couch and turns his head to actually watch the movie this time. Eugene has just gotten Rapunzel to the bar when Peter begins stirring from his impromptu nap. 

Peter's head burrows deeper into Harley's chest. "Wha'?" He asks, voice rough from sleep and slightly muffled. 

"Morning, sunshine," Harley laughs out. Peter's adorable like this. To be fair, he's always adorable but even more so when he's sleepy. He just seems more at ease, peaceful. 

A hand hits Harley square in the chest as Peter scrambles awake, and off of Harley, subsequently. Harley misses the warmth of him. "What the heck?" Peter demands, face crinkled in confusion, as he settles on the other end of the couch from Harley.

For a moment, Harley debates whether he wants to tell Peter what happened or let him figure it out on his own. "Did you know you snore?" Harley asks instead, smirk gracing his mouth. "It's kinda cute, actually," he continues, watching victoriously as a blush rises to Peter's cheeks. Peter's gaze travels downward in embarrassment, which forces him to take in the fact that he's wearing his suit. His eyes lift back to Harley's, mouth opening in a small 'O'. 

Peter scrubs a hand over his face. "Fuck," he breathes. " _Fuck,_ " he repeats, with more feeling this time. 

Covering his mouth with his hand, Harley tries to laugh silently, or at the very least to himself. That fails spectacularly. Half a second later, Harley's clutching at his stomach, still unable to stop loud gasps of laughter from leaving him. He's not even sure why he finds this amusing. Just that for some reason it is. 

"This is so not funny," Peter whines, though he almost looks like he's about to fall into a fit of giggles too. 

Harley takes a breath. "It totally is," he counters, "You really should've seen your face when you realized." 

That earns him a glare from Peter. "Ha ha," he deadpans. Then his gaze softens a bit, "I'm sorry for not telling you. I was planning to, but then I forgot—or well, I didn't forget necessarily. I just got pretty freaked out about it and decided to put off telling you. Which, in hindsight, wasn't my smartest idea. But, I really did mean to tell you. After we became friends, that is. Before that I was definitely not gonna tell you, because I mean, we were so not at that level of trust, no offense—"

"Why are you sorry? You had every right not to tell me, it's y'know, your secret identity." Harley wiggles his eyebrows as the last two words leave his mouth.

Arms crossed over his chest, Peter petulantly demands, "Don't tease me, cowboy." 

A mock salute is the only response Harley offers.

They're both quiet for a bit, before Peter's eyes flit over to the television. He turns back to Harley, "Are you watching Tangled?" His eyes brighten with a childish sort of glee, lips turning up into a half smile. 

Harley hums an affirmative. 

"I'm gonna go get changed into something that's not this," Peter tells him, gesturing to his admittedly uncomfortable looking spider suit. "Then I'll be back so I can watch." He practically bounces out of the room, drawing a faint chuckle from Harley. 

Apparently that nap worked wonders for Peter's exhaustion. Either that or he's faking the energetic thing. If he is faking, Harley's just going to have to convince him to rest more. His body obviously needs it, if Peter's state when he got to the Tower is anything to go by. Harley has FRIDAY rewind the movie so they can start from the beginning, it's not like he paid much attention to it the first time around and if Peter asks he'll tell him as much. 

Harley swipes through his phone as he waits for Peter to come back, answering a few texts from his sister. He looks up at the telltale tap of Peter's footsteps, taking in his Hello Kitty pajama bottoms and a black T-shirt that's too big for him. "Is that... Is that my shirt?" Harley asks, squinting at the offending item. Yeah, definitely the Florence + the Machine shirt he'd bought at the concert he'd gone to with his friend not too long ago. 

Peter looks down, holding out the hem of the shirt so he can see it properly. "Oh," he says, dragging his foot along the ground a bit, "yeah, sorry. Someone must have stuck it in my closet by accident."

"That's alright, darlin'," Harley drawls, smiling at him. "Looks good on you." And boy does it. One sleeve is hanging off Peter's shoulder and he practically drowns in it. 

Flushing a bit at the compliment, Peter takes a seat on the couch. He stretches his legs out, tucking his feet under Harley's thighs with a quick glance to make sure Harley didn't mind. FRIDAY starts the movie up again, and Peter watches giddily. Peter sings along to each song, unabashed, even though his singing voice is in no way made for fame. Though, eventually Harley joins in on the buffoonery, voice steady and smooth. They're cackling and belting out lyrics like it's their job. 

They duet "I See the Light" rather seriously; Peter takes Rapunzel's parts and Harley takes Eugene's. They still giggle softly throughout the song, but it's less joking and more... intimate. At least, Harley thinks so. 

Peter cries near the end, when Rapunzel thinks Eugene is dead. 

"Best Disney movie ever," Peter declares once it's over, sniffling. "A cinematic masterpiece that will remain timeless."

Laughing, Harley says, "For sure."

They smile at each other for a second before Peter looks away. 

"So," Harley begins, "you told me something earlier and I figured I could tell you something in return."

"Technically, I didn't tell you anything," Peter interrupts. 

Harley rolls his eyes. "You didn't have to, genius. Anyways, I was trying to say something. Ya gonna let me?"

"Yeah, sure. Knock yourself out, Keener."

"The sass on this one," he exclaims, faking shock. "Alright, as I was saying. You're Spider-Man-"

"I know that already, thanks."

"Let me talk, goddammit," Harley groans. "You're Spider-Man, and I have an Iron Man suit built in my garage slash workshop at home." 

Peter's eyes look about ready to pop out of his head. "You have an Iron Man suit? As in, Mr. Stark gave you one or you made one yourself?" He asks.

Grinning, Harley leans his head onto the palm of his hand. "I built it. After he crashed into my garage. It wasn't really that hard."

"You mean to tell me," Peter says slowly, as if trying to make sure he understands what he's hearing, "that you built an Iron Man suit after meeting Mr. Stark and seeing his suit once? When you were, what? Twelve?"

"Eleven, actually," Harley corrects, fondly watching Peter prepare to freak out. 

Which he does. Jumping up from his seat, Peter bounds around the living area. He gesticulates as he rants about all the variables that would have to be accounted for in order to build the suit in the first place. Then, goes on to talk about how it should be damn close to impossible for someone, anyone to recreate the armor that's not Tony. Much less an 11 year old kid who had only worked on the suit one time and not even in full capacity. 

"Harls, you're a literal genius," Peter says, out of breath from his tangent, which Harley has been following with wry amusement.

A raised eyebrow. "You say that as if you're surprised."

Peter flails his arms helplessly. "I already knew, obviously, but c'mon this just solidifies it even more. Just—Wow. Eleven years old."

Harley ducks his head with a sheepish smile in a rare show of shyness. Peter has that effect on him, some kind of power over him no one else has ever had. Frankly, it scares Harley, but it also excites him. There's someone to challenge him now, to make him better. Nobody in Rose Hill did that. 

"I'm being summoned to the med bay," Peter says, staring down at his phone. "Mr. Stark probably wants to make sure I wasn't stabbed while on patrol and 'conveniently forgot to mention it'." He scoffs as if that's somehow a dumb conclusion for Tony to come to.

"Is that concern unfounded?"

He hesitates, opens his mouth to argue and then closes it again. "Well, no."

God, this boy. Harley tilts his head as he looks at him. "You should like, tell people when you're injured," he suggests. "I'm just sayin', not that I'm an expert on vigilantism or anything," he keeps on when Peter shoots him a look. 

"No, because that would be me," Peter answers, pointing to himself to emphasize his statement. 

"Right," the word is drawn out in obvious skepticism. 

Peter stands, gives Harley a little smile and a half wave. "Don't wanna keep him waiting," he says, already on his way to the elevator.

"Of course," Harley concedes. "Wouldn't want him to think you've bled out, now would we?"

Inside the elevator, Peter sticks his tongue out at Harley as the doors close. Harley is positive Peter can hear the resulting bark of laughter that Peter's juvenile antics draws out of him. 

Shaking his head, Harley opens the Spotify app on his phone, immediately clicking the 'Create Playlist' option. He considers for a moment before deciding on a title and then makes it private. The next 30 minutes are spent pouring over songs, trying to pick which ones he wants to add. At the end of that time, he only has a few songs, but Harley's pretty happy with what he's chosen so far. 

It appears that Harley's got his work cut out for him in finding songs that express how he feels about one Peter Parker. He takes a deep breath, puts his earbuds back in, and gets down to business. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the ending is kinda abrupt sorry :/


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Harley work through a minor misunderstanding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure I'm happy with this but am I ever happy with anything I write?   
> Technically this update isn't late bc it's still Sunday so here's chapter 3, hope you enjoy :)

Peter is acting weird. Okay, not weird per se. Just... different. 

It's almost as if they've reverted to how their relationship was before that night on the roof. They only really speak during lab time and that's probably for Tony's benefit more than anything. Other than that, their interactions have been limited and verging on the edge of painfully awkward. 

Anytime Harley walks into a room Peter's in, Peter leaves. Occasionally, Peter enters a room, sees Harley, and turns right back around. Which leaves Harley wondering what the hell he did wrong and how he can fix it, because he desperately wants to fix it. He misses talking late at night with Peter, misses Peter's puns, he even misses their stupid little teasing disagreements. He's sure that somewhere along the way he has royally screwed up, he's just not sure how. It could've been a slight comment, or a joke he took too far, or—no. No, there's no way Peter noticed Harley's less than strictly platonic feelings for him. Not possible.

But if it is possible... he wouldn't have done all this, right? Harley is—was—approximately 96 percent sure that Peter feels that way about him, too. At least, he had been until all of this. Now, Harley is left praying that he didn't make Peter uncomfortable with his emotions, and didn't ruin their friendship because he can't keep it together. 

The guilt is like an invading species, a worm digging and digging inside his stomach where it doesn't belong and there aren't the correct nutrients to sustain it. Yet that doesn't keep it from fueling itself on all the nutrients it can find and take up, even if it means leaving Harley's insides hollow. So he does what he always does when he can't think and wants nothing more than to not feel. He works. 

Harley's making heaps of improvements to a never-ending pile of intern projects, while tinkering with the Avengers' gear in between and providing tiny, nearly unnoticeable refinements as he goes. He gets so caught up in the need to create—which was the point, so he counts it as a win—that he just about fails to notice Peter walking in. 

Somehow he manages to look up at exactly the right time to catch Peter entering the room, a sketchbook tucked under one arm. Peter's legs stop moving as he takes in Harley half-sitting on the workbench and staring directly at him. 

"I was just looking for a quiet place to draw," Peter says, "but I see that you're already here so I'm just gonna-" He jerks a thumb behind him. The worm of guilt unearths more dirt in Harley's stomach, wiggling its way deeper into him. 

"Wait," Harley calls to Peter's already retreating back. "You just got here, you can sit at a different workstation. I promise I won't bother you." He doesn't even care if Peter notices the hint of desperation in his voice. In fact, he's on the verge of begging for Peter's forgiveness, however Peter deems it necessary for him to obtain it. Be that in bribes of starbursts or promises or singing songs while dressed in embarrassing costumes. Harley wouldn't tell him no, not if it got him his friend back. 

Peter turns his head halfway, so Harley's looking at his side profile, his very attractive side profile— _not the time, Keener, get it together_. "Thanks, but I think I'll find somewhere else to go." And with that, Peter leaves Harley to his projects. Except, it's not that easy. He can't find his rhythm again. The previous system of reading, pushing down the guilt, making comments, pushing down the guilt, fixing, and repeating, is simply not doing it. 

All he can focus on is Peter's determination to be as far away from him as possible and how Harley is, more probable than not, responsible for that. Standing, Harley shoves at his notes and tools, face screwed up in frustration. He wants to scream, but he settles for tugging at his hair in an attempt to distract from the wholly unwelcome feelings using his body as a gathering place. 

"Harley." His fingers release the strands of his hair, and he forces his arms back to his sides so he can grin at Tony. Maybe he can convince Tony, and himself in the process, that he's fine. "What's wrong, bud?" So much for that, then.

Still smiling, Harley shakes his head. "Nothin', why?" 

Tony's exasperated face is proof that this particular strategy is definitely not going to work. But he'll be damned if he doesn't keep it up as long as possible. 

"I walked in here only to see you—typically calm and unruffled you—tearing your hair out and looking like you wanted to scream yourself hoarse." Nobody gives Tony enough credit for his observational skills, truly. Harley is internally cursing his perceptiveness.

"I just-" Harley swallows nervously. "Peter won't talk to me and I don't know why."

A knowing smirk replaces concern. "Oh? Why does that bother you?"

Harley groans. "You know why it bothers me. Tell me what I should do," he whines.

"I wanna hear you say it," Tony sing-songs, like the rude mentor he is. Then he has the audacity to laugh when Harley glares at him. Talk about insult to injury.

Scoffing, Harley says, "Because we're friends?" Tony presses a button on the table beside him that emits a 'errr' buzz. Drama queen. "Fine," Harley snaps, "it's because I like him."

Tony practically coos. Disgusting. "I think you should wait for him to come to you, if you pester and prod he'll only get more worked up and annoyed," he suggests after he's done saying how adorable and cute Harley's crush on Peter is. _Father figures_ , Harley thinks, _a constant, embarrassing annoyance_. 

"Wise words of advice from the smartest person on the planet," Harley tells him. "I will take your opinion into consideration." He gives a mocking bow before heading to the elevator. He knows he deserves the towel to the shoulder he gets as he passes Tony. 

With a quick look at the time on his phone, Harley realizes it's late. Late enough that he shouldn't go up to the roof like he normally does because he would just come back down minutes later. Plus, Peter is probably up there, since the lab was taken and he wanted a quiet space. So, bed it is. 

Harley falls into a restful sleep easily, despite the guilt still nagging at him.

Though his peace is interrupted a few hours later by FRIDAY's mechanical voice. "Harley," and that's how Harley knows this is important, the use of his actual name, "wake up. It appears Peter is having a nightmare. Boss has only just gotten to sleep, I didn't want to wake him." Now that Harley is slightly more awake—or as awake as he can be, he squints at the holographic clock FRIDAY is kind enough to provide, at three in the morning—he can recognize the worry in the AI's tone. 

"'Kay, FRI. I'll take care of 'im." Harley scrubs at his eyes as he slides out of bed, only having the brain capacity to be marginally worried about Peter's dislike for him at this hour. It takes him less than thirty seconds to get down the hall to Peter's room and ease the door open. The sight that greets him when he enters sends a stab of sorrow through him.

Peter is on his bed, the sheets twisted around his ankles as he writhes around in obvious distress, whimpers escaping him as whatever hellish scene plays through his unconscious mind. Instinct creates an urge in Harley to shake Peter awake, but upon second assessment, he decides not to do that. He has no idea how Peter will react to being touched in this state and he doesn't want Peter to accidentally hurt himself. After a quick debate, Harley goes with repeating Peter's name at different volume levels, though none of them are quite yelling, until Peter jerks awake, panting. 

"Shh, Peter, you're okay. You're safe. We're in the Tower. Tony's asleep right down the hall, and I'm right here, and so are you. Nothing bad is happening." Harley doesn't even know what he's saying, only knows that he needs to calm Peter down. The wild look in Peter's eyes, the fear, the tension in his body, it all needs to be soothed away. 

The steady stream of words continues, and Harley can tell from his expression that Peter is picking out Harley's own heartbeat and Tony's too. Something to focus on, to ground him. "Do you think you can go back to sleep or do you want a distraction?" Harley asks once Peter's breathing has evened out.

"No sleep." Peter's voice comes out rough, and Harley's heart is breaking for him. There is no world where Peter should experience this kind of pain, he doesn't deserve it. 

Harley nods. "Okay, let's go to the kitchen. I'll make us some hot chocolate." He takes Peter's hand in his like it's the most breakable piece of glass, and leads him down the hallway and into the kitchen just as softly. 

After settling Peter on a stool at the counter, Harley gets to work on their late night treat. The movements are easy, natural. He's had plenty of days where this was what he needed, how he survived that particular day. 

He joins Peter at the island, gripping a steaming mug in one hand as he slides the other in front of Peter. They sip at their hot chocolate quietly, neither sure what to say to the other. 

"I'm sorry for whatever I did, I didn't mean to," Harley says, like the idiot he is. Here Peter is, in heaps of emotional agony, and Harley is making it about him. But since he's dug his grave already... "I know that not meaning to ain't an excuse, but I'd like to make it up to you." 

Peter stares at the empty mug currently being choked out by his hands. Slowly, he turns to Harley. He leans forward, forehead finding a resting place on Harley's shoulder. There's a muffled sentence, but Harley can't make it out.

"What was that? Sorry, not all of us have spider baby hearing," Harley teases, even though he can feel his heart beating away in his chest. 

Lifting his head, Peter repeats himself. "Who's Julian?" 

"Julian?" Harley says, taken aback. 

"He called you the other day in the lab, you had just stepped out. I was standing right by your phone, so I saw his name flash across your screen. There was a heart by it." Peter's voice sounds almost pained, but no. It must be a trick of his imagination or sleep deprived hallucinations perhaps. There's no chance that Peter is—is _jealous_.

"They're my friend from Rose Hill, my only friend from there, actually. Besides Abbie. Why?" 

A quick glance up at Harley's face. "Just a friend?" 

Oh, oh Peter _is_ jealous. That's why he's been ignoring Harley, because Peter likes him back and thought he was dating someone else. Harley almost wants to squeal in delight at that, but this is certainly not the time. To top it off, for the first time in nearly two weeks the guilt stops worming its way through his body. "Yeah, I've known them forever. Julian's not even into guys," Harley reassures and tacks on, "The heart's there mostly as a joke," just to be thorough. 

The weight of Peter's head returns to his shoulder. "Oh, okay," he says, a long puff of air leaving his lungs as he does.

They sit there, the silence like a weighted blanket surrounding them in safety. Harley lifts his mug to his lips with one hand, the other tangled in Peter's curls. 

"You wanna go back to bed, darlin'?" 

Nodding, Peter straightens back up on his stool. "Lay with me?" He asks, eyes pleading, and Harley is helpless to say no. He'll gladly fight off all of Peter's demons, weaponless, and smile through whatever pain it causes him as long as Peter gets out unscathed. And he knows that Peter would do the same for him. 

Harley rinses their cups in the sink before Peter is tugging lightly on his hand and ushering him down the hall to Peter's room. Instantly, Peter crawls over to one side of the bed, leaving Harley to climb in on the other side. Harley pulls the covers up over them. They curl up facing each other, linked fingers laying between them. 

"Did Mr. Stark tell you about the- about the Vulture?" Peter squeezes his eyes shut, drawing a ragged breath. 

Tightening his grip on Peter's hand reassuringly, Harley answers, "A little, yeah. Said you took down a plane full of Stark tech that the guy was planning on stealing."

Peter's chin wobbles. "Before that, he uh, he dropped a building on me?" His voice cracks at the end, and he clenches his jaw in an obvious attempt to keep from crying. 

"Oh, Peter." He wants nothing more than to punch whoever this Vulture guy is, but he can't do that. Both because the man is locked up and because Peter needs him right now. Harley is so out of his depth, though. 

"No. No, it's okay you don't need to say anything. I just wanted to- wanted to tell you. It was, God, it was terrifying." He scrubs at his face, stubbornly willing away his tears. "I didn't know if I was going to make it out from under the- from under the rubble. I should be able to deal with this, I'm supposed to be strong-"

"You are strong." Peter scoffs at him. "No, Peter, you are so incredibly strong. You survived and you came back and you kept helping people. I couldn't have done that." Peter opens his mouth, probably to dispute this. "Ah, no arguing. It won't change my mind. You, Peter Parker, are amazing." 

Eyes reopening, Peter says, "Whatever," but doesn't say anything else. Harley thinks that's progress. Then again, Peter may just be too tired to try to fight him on this. 

Harley grasps for something to talk about, something to ease Peter's mind so he can sleep soundly. "Have you met any cool people? Daredevil or Deadpool? Oh, has Tony introduced you to Captain Marvel?" 

Demeanor visibly changing, Peter begins, "I've met all three of them actually. Captain Marvel is wonderful, she was so nice and her powers are awesome!" Harley smiles at his enthusiasm. "Deadpool is surprisingly cool? For someone who's hired to kill people, that is. But I think Daredevil is my favorite out of them, he has some wicked moves. The first time I met him..." He rambles on about his first meetings with all of them, and a few other super-powered people he's come into contact with. 

Eventually, Peter drifts off. He's mid-rant on how Deadpool likes to catch him off-guard during patrol and distract him with promises of delicious smelling food when his voice softens and slows and then halts completely. Harley only falls asleep once he's sure Peter is sleeping, so that Peter won't have to be awake with his nightmares alone. 

Neither of them wake up until noon, hands still interlocked, when Tony bulldozes in and demands they get up so they can eat the breakfast that he—okay, that Rhodey—has prepared for them. Tony leaves just as quickly.

"We better get up before it's all gone," Peter says, a soft expression on his face as he regards Harley, "You know how Tony is with bacon." 

A laugh bubbles in Harley's throat. "Yeah, darlin', we better get goin'."

In light of the night before, this morning seems to be going surprisingly well. Especially since Harley gets to take in Peter in all his morning glory, bedhead and the works. He hopes that someday this'll be the sight he wakes up to every morning.

He's a little lost in his head as Peter attempts to drag him out of bed, into the dining area, and away from his thoughts. 

_Breakfast now_ , _pining later, Keener,_ he thinks, and lets himself be led away. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harley and Peter take a trip to the Compound.

It's ten minutes past the time school lets out when Peter finally exits the front doors. Harley is leaning against the passenger door of one of Tony's extremely expensive cars (of which there are many), arms crossed over his chest—cliche, sure, but he wants to make sure Peter sees him because the plan had been for Happy to pick Peter up.

Halfway down the steps, Peter falters as he makes eye contact with Harley, but he reluctantly continues towards Harley. Peter gives a hurried goodbye to his friend before striding with a resolute determination to the car. Though his friend—Ned, maybe? Harley didn't know—doesn't go to his own ride. 

"What are you doing here?" Peter hisses.

Harley smirks. "Aw, darlin', you embarrassed of me now?" He's only joking, but he admits it's adorable watching Peter try to stumble through a reply. "I'm just messin' with ya," he tells him, "It's Friday, we're spending the weekend at the Compound."

An irritated, 'duh' expression dawns Peter's face. "I know this," he says slowly, as if Harley is the idiot in this situation. As if. "Are you driving that thing? Because I have to say, I'm not even close to fifty percent sure that you won't kill us." A vague gesture at the car Harley is still using as a prop to hold him up. 

"Unless you're planning on drivin' us, sweetheart," Harley answers smoothly, smug smile still on his face. 

Peter kicks an imaginary pebble on the pavement. "I can't do that, I don't have my license."

"You don't have your license?" Harley repeats, laughing a bit. City folk, honestly. Don't they teach them any type of basic skill around here? "That's a tad hypocritical, thinking I'm a bad driver when you can't drive at all."

"Hey, it's not my fault I live somewhere that a car isn't needed in order to get around," Peter defends, crossing his arms over his chest. 

An exasperated head shake is all Harley can achieve for a moment. "Well, you got two choices here: you can let me drive us upstate, or you can take your chances driving us upstate. I think I know which I would prefer." 

There's an obvious reluctance written across Peter's features, and it hurts a little, knowing that Peter doesn't trust him with this. Then again, Peter's never seen Harley drive so it's not his fault for not immediately going along with it. Harley's a damn responsible drive, though, if he says so himself. He's been driving since he was eleven, it's not a surprise that he's gotten quite good at it. 

"Okay, I guess."

"Great, let's get going, baby." Harley opens the passenger door for Peter and closes it after he steps in and situates himself. Swiftly, he half-jogs to the other side of the car and hops in. 

Harley tosses his phone into Peter's lap. 

"What's this for?"

"So you can choose the songs, obviously," Harley responds, rolling his eyes.

"Obviously," Peter repeats. He scrolls through Harley's playlists for a moment, fingers stumbling when he comes across a particular song or playlist. "You listen to Lorde?"

Putting the car in drive, Harley grins over at Peter. "Why does that surprise you?" They exit the school parking lot, and the GPS begins its set of directions to the Compound. Harley blushes when he realizes that Peter shuffled the playlist he'd made _for_ Peter. 

Peter splutters, clearly trying to find some kind of decent explanation, and making Harley laugh in the process. "I- You- You're _you._ I figured you'd like all that country bumpkin music and like rock or something." 

That draws a bout of nearly tear inducing laughter. Oh, this boy. "I do like that music, spider baby. I'm not big on specific genres, I just like the songs that I like," Harley says between laughs. "Besides have you ever listened to country music?" 

"What's your favorite song on _Melodrama_?" Peter asks instead. 

"How can you expect me to pick a favorite? They're all masterpieces." Harley scoffs, but says, "Although, 'Sober II (Melodrama)' is-" he imitates a chef's kiss. 

"Both hands on the wheel!" Peter exclaims, shooting up in his worry. "And quit looking at me, eyes on the road!" Honestly, his face is unbelievably adorable in his trepidation.

Replacing his hand on the wheel, Harley shakes his head and chuckles. "Alright, calm down. What's your favorite song on the album?"

"I see your choice, and I raise you: 'Perfect Places'," Peter answers, relaxing into his seat now that Harley's safety precautions appease his nagging doubts. "D- Mr. Stark's favorite is 'Writer in the Dark'." 

"I'm sorry, can you repeat that?" Harley demands. 

"I said-"

"No, no. I know what you said. How the hell did you get Tony "Rock 'n' Roll is all I know" Stark to listen to Lorde?"

Harley glances over at Peter in disbelief, just in time to watch Peter curl his arms around himself protectively. Huh. Peter proceeds to fidget with his sleeve until he blurts, "I got stabbed." The car jerks as Harley hits the brake in his momentary shock. "He had to keep me awake so he asked me about what I'd been doing and I told him I was listening to the album. I guess he decided he needed to listen to it, too." Peter shrugs as best he can from his position. 

Sometimes, Harley forgets that Peter is an actual superhero. That he goes out and risks getting injured, getting _killed,_ to save other people. It's incredibly brave and reckless and selfless and stupid. It begs the question of whether Harley is good enough to do that to mind, whether he'll be as effective if or when he decides to take up his gig as Iron Defender. Peter Parker makes him want to be brave and selfless, makes him want to be better and do better for the world. It's a new sensation, but not an unpleasant one. 

"That is... wild. That's wild. What is your life?" 

Peter throws his head back, a grin on his face. He looks lovely, radiant. Harley's fingers twitch on the wheel, aching to reach out and grab Peter's hand. Instead, he turns the radio up and starts singing along. Well, it's more like screaming. But that's fine, because Peter is right there with him. Soon enough, Peter is finding countless throwback songs that Harley doesn't remember knowing and yet he can somehow recite all of the lyrics. 

Fingers mimic the bass line, hands cradle the air like there's a guitar held between them. Their heads bob to each song and they're grinning like loons, because this is everything right now. Harley's world narrows down to this car, this song, this person beside him. The atmosphere lets him simply exist. That's not something that happens often for him. 

They finish the song, out of breath and struggling to keep a straight face. Their fight is to no avail, Peter gives a half delirious giggle and then they're both gone. Harley reaches his right hand to cover his mouth briefly before letting it fall onto the center console, where Peter picks it up and tucks his own underneath it. 

Harley can't help but notice their fingers slot together seamlessly. 

"Oh, so you trust me now?" Harley indicates where his hand is very obviously not on the steering wheel.

"Definitely not," Peter says, no hint of humor in his voice, "but I figured that I might as well die holding a pretty boy's hand."

A dry looks is thrown in Peter's direction. "Such a flatterer, darlin'."

It's amazing how Harley can tell Peter bats his eyelashes from his peripheral vision. "Only for you." 

"You're so cheesy." 

"Maybe so," Peter concedes, "You like it, though."

There's an overwhelmingly dumb smile lighting up Harley's features. Because, yeah, he does like it when Peter's a dork with him. Especially when he's a dork while flirting, however badly, with Harley. 

"Perhaps," Harley admits, ducking his head a bit while still looking at the road. 

The remainder of the drive to the Compound is spent in relative silence, with occasional quiet humming or singing interrupting the hush. An unnameable feeling dawns on Harley, something soft and sweet; something he's never quite felt before. He thinks it might just be a level of content he's just now experiencing. 

Their arrival is uneventful. There isn't an Avengers team living in the massive building to greet them. Not that either of them would want them to. After everything they did to Tony, the boys are dead set on keeping the former Avengers out of their lives. Slowly though, Tony is building a new team. Hopefully, a better team. Only time will tell.

Harley quickly exits the car, though he's loath to let go of Peter's hand, in order to open Peter's door for him. What can he say, Southern hospitality is engraved into his very existence. 

Peter rolls his eyes. "Thanks, cowboy." He lets his tone attempt to recreate Harley's drawl on the words and it's so devastatingly hilarious, because it's off. 

"You're hilarious," Harley deadpans, "the epitome of humor." 

"You say that as if you weren't about to laugh." 

"No comment." Casually—or so he thinks—Harley takes Peter's hand in his as they walk towards the entrance. "C'mon spider baby, we have an entire state of the art lab to destroy."

"What?" Peter squeaks. Harley throws him a wink, which he's sure is going to either leave Peter flustered or alarmed. Potentially, it could do both. Endless possibilities, really. 

They make it to the lab with little trouble, FRIDAY alerting them that Tony's picking up an afternoon snack and will be there shortly. Peter immediately sets up his homework at his workstation, diving headfirst into physics problems. Harley, on the other hand, takes up the seat next to Peter and settles in to annoy him as he works. It's something Harley has begun doing, because he knows that his prodding doesn't distract Peter. At most it exasperates him. 

Tony stumbles through the doorway less than five minutes later, pizza boxes piled precariously and obstructing his view. It doesn't help that his shoelaces are untied. From the corner of his eye, Harley sees Peter hop up and lift the top few boxes out of Tony's hands. Still, he's just a head and legs with pizza for a body. Harley barely resists reaching for his phone to snap a picture. 

"I thought this was supposed to be a snack?" Harley asks, voice skeptical. 

"Nice to see you, too," Tony snarks, "My day was fantastic, thanks for asking. How was yours?" When Harley doesn't respond, Tony snorts and gestures to where Peter is three quarters of the way through inhaling a large pepperoni pizza. "It's a snack."

Harley shrugs, because, yeah, that's a valid point. Super metabolism is still a new concept for him, and spending time with someone who has said super metabolism? Definitely not something he's used to. Tony hands him an entire box of pizza, topped with pepperoni and banana peppers. A delectable combination.

"Harls what the fuck are you eating?" Peter demands, hand covering his mouth because he's mid chew.

"The only topping combination with rights. Duh, Peter."

Peter goes to argue, but Tony raises a hand. "No, no arguing. It's Friday, there's lab work to be done, and you two are certainly not going to ruin it arguing about pizza toppings of all things." 

"Mr. Stark," Peter whines, "Somebody has to explain to him that pineapple is the best pizza topping."

Harley leaps at the outright _lie_. "You are a heathen, Parker, a goddamn heathen."

"You're both going to give me a migraine. Come to think of it, you kids are the reason I'm graying," Tony says, one hand brushing against his hair. "Now, finish your pizza without arguing so we can science." 

They top off the last of their snack and clean up quickly after that. 

"What are we listening to today?"

Peter shrugs a shoulder, already reviewing the tests for a project for SI that he's on the edge of a breakthrough on. 

"I think Lorde," Harley suggests, openly watching Peter turn bright red next to him and gently poking him in the ribs. 

The music starts playing, nowhere near as deafening as how Tony would play it before the boys started coming to the lab with him. Mostly, to prevent Peter's sensitive ears from bleeding. The three of them fall into a steady pace, fiddling with previous gear to see where improvements can be made and bouncing ideas off of each other. And they dance. Or, Harley out-and-out dances, while Peter sways a little to each song. Tony straight up belts out lyrics, his fist acting as a microphone. 

It's carefree and childish, sure. But it's full of unabated trust and love. At risk of sounding cheesier than Peter, it's family. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi I just wanna thank those of y'all that have been leaving comments they mean a lot to me and I'm super sorry I haven't been responding to them, I've been exhausted lately! I just want you to know that I appreciate y'all so much, thank you! <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harley and Peter have a minor mishap in the lab.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I DID look up the science but not really in depth so pls don't yell at me lmao

Chemistry isn't Harley's strong suit. In fact, it's probably the only science that he wasn't immediately good at when he first tried it. It's not that he's bad at the subject, though, he simply has to work at it in a way he never has to for physics or biology. 

Normally, Harley just avoids chemistry as much as possible. Even if it's involved in the other sciences, it's only small, doable pieces of information. It's a fine plan, avoiding it. 

Until he can't steer clear of it. Like today. 

So here he is, in the Compound's state of the art lab—which he and Peter have yet to blow up, unfortunately—mixing chemicals. Easy. He pours what he's ninety-three percent sure is safe to mix with the acetic anhydride already in the beaker. 

The next thing he knows, Peter is tackling him to the ground as a fire explodes in the area Harley had just been working. Huh, must have poured the ethylene glycol in by mistake. 

"FRI, activate the Baby Caused a Spill Protocol," Peter says, body still laying over Harley's protectively. The sprinklers over Harley's workstation immediately put out the fire in the beaker.

"That wasn't even that bad of an explosion," Harley points out, "I've definitely caused worse." He reaches up to take his safety goggles off, because they're really aggravating and he knows he looks stupid in them. That's not even to mention the mask. 

Peter swats his hands away, scowling. "Don't take those off, acetic anhydride is highly corrosive and contact can irritate or burn the skin and eyes. Besides, it's not like my spidey sense warns me about what type of danger it is, only that it's going to occur." 

"You sound like you're quoting a textbook," Harley says dryly, disregarding the second sentence entirely. Peter's scowl deepens and he finally rolls off of Harley, but neither of them get up off the ground. 

The lab door slides open, Tony stepping in decked out in appropriate lab gear. Which is shocking, honestly, and Peter doesn't hesitate to give Harley a look that implies that even Tony understands the risks of this situation. Harley has no clue how he ended up with two self-sacrificing, idiotic superheroes telling _him_ to be careful. 

"Harley James Keener, you know much better than to work on chemistry projects without me here. And to use such corrosive materials at that! Don't even try to wiggle your way out of this, FRIDAY told me that you didn't even check the label of the chemical before pouring it in-"

"Snitch," Harley mutters, staring directly at the camera in the corner across from him. 

Tony doesn't seem to notice, continuing on with his rant, which Harley tunes out. It's nothing he hasn't heard before, and he'll likely hear it countless times down the line. "You really had me worried," Tony finishes, voice soft and vulnerable. 

Guilt hits Harley in the gut like a train. "I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't have done it but- I'm sorry." 

Sighing, Tony reaches both hands down to help each of the boys to their feet. "Come on, let's let FRI air out the place."

They exit the lab, heading to their respective rooms to shower and change clothes on Tony's orders. 

Under some unspoken agreement, the three of them meet back up in the living room. Tony is already sitting on the sofa when Peter and Harley emerge from the hall that holds their rooms. He looks up as they enter and claps his hands together. _Nerd_.

"Great, now that you're here we can discuss," he wiggles his fingers in an imitation of jazz hands, "Lab safety."

Harley groans, throwing himself onto the opposite couch dramatically. In contrast, Peter rolls his eyes and sits calmly, if in slight ire. This situation isn't anywhere near his fault, so Harley supposes he can empathize. Sort of. Mostly, Harley's just glad he doesn't have to suffer this speech by himself like he normally does. 

"Harley James-"

"Still with the middle name?" 

Tony glares at him. "Yes, still with the middle name," he mocks. "You deserve it. We've talked about this before, and I know that you hate having to have supervision, but you tend to get so caught up in working that you don't double check things. Which is a safety hazard. I can't have either of you boys getting hurt, I don't think my bad heart could take it at this point. I understand that you both think you're old enough to do these things without an adult around, and while that's true in a _select few cases_ , each of you are aware of the areas in which you need supervising. Be responsible, ask for help. It won't kill you. Capisci?" He waits for Harley to nod before ending with "Great, I'm going to go check in on the interns. Keep yourselves busy and out of trouble, yeah?" He's in the elevator before either of them can respond. 

Turning to Peter, Harley opens his mouth to complain about what a waste of time that was, but Peter's halfway down the hall already. "Where are you going?" He calls, jumping up to chase after him. 

There was no need. Peter spins around and storms right up to Harley, finger poking his chest in accusation. "You are so unbelievably, goddamn stupid. 'I'm fine at chemistry, Peter', and 'I do read the labels'," he quotes, face pinched, "Obviously not. I can't believe you would-" His chest heaves, shoulders shaking with the force of his breaths. 

"Pete-"

"No." Peter shoves his finger into Harley's chest again. "No," he repeats, looking like he's on the verge of crying or screaming or perhaps both, "You could have been hurt, Harls. You could've got hurt, you idiot." 

Harley thinks he can feel his heart shift, the way it shudders at the blatant hurt and worry he's caused Peter. It's painful to think about, but he did this. "Darlin'." His voice cracks on the word. 

A beat passes, the two of them just standing there in the middle of the hallway. Their bodies nearly touching, breath mingling in the space between them. 

Peter surges forward, lips pressing intently, urgently onto Harley's. In the thirty seconds it takes Harley's brain to catch on, Peter is pulling away. The loss nearly has Harley pouting. 

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that," Peter says, a hand going to cover his lips, eyes wide. 

Flinching away from the pang of hurt that statement results in, Harley closes his eyes. "Are you sorry because you kissed me or because you don't know how I'd react?" _Please don't be the first, please don't be the first._

"The second one." 

_Thank god._

Harley grins, reopening his eyes to see Peter staring keenly at the floor. The tips of his ears are bright red. "Well, then, can I kiss you?" It's comical, how quickly Peter's head snaps up in response to that one little question. "Careful, don't want ya to snap your neck, sweetheart." 

Eyes rolling back, Peter simply says, "Super spider healing." 

"That's right," Harley says as though he's only now drawn this conclusion, "Villains work hard but spider baby healing works harder."

Peter's eyes light up as he laughs—at the lamest joke probably ever told—and it's the prettiest sight Harley has had the pleasure of reveling in.

He fixates on Peter's lips, desperately wishing to kiss him again, because he didn't do it right last time. Even if it was due to the shock. "You still haven't answered my question," Harley reminds him. It seems like as good a time as any, although it is partially due to Harley being impatient. At least he's self aware. 

"Oh," Peter says, mouth mimicking the shape of the letter. He hums for a second, and gives Harley an overt once over. "Yeah, okay." 

"Yeah?" 

A singular nod and a quick 'yes' are all it takes before Harley's hands are cupping Peter's face, thumbs grazing gently over his cheekbones. 

"You're pretty," Harley says, not moving an inch. 

Peter blushes. "I'm sure, but could you maybe get on with it? Not just gonna leave a guy hanging, are you?"

Harley tilts his head. "I might, now that you've mentioned it." Never mind the fact that he wouldn't pass up kissing Peter for the life of him. 

Still, Peter leans back, lips turned up at the edges. "Have a nice day, then," he says, turning in the direction of his room. Harley's hands slip from his face to his shoulders at the movement. 

"I'll definitely have a nice day, spider baby." He grabs Peter's hand, pulling him around and into Harley's chest. "Let's try this again." 

And then, they're kissing. Leisurely and exploratory more than anything. There is no haste or attempt to deepen it, only a gentle caress that leaves Harley breathless. He doesn't pull away, though, wanting to make this last as long as possible. 

When they do remove themselves from each other, it's because of a mutual desperation for air. Harley thinks he can see some of his own disappointment at the end of their—frankly, marvelous—kiss mirrored on Peter’s face, but it may be that he's projecting. Leaning up, Peter places a last, chaste peck to Harley's lips, leaving Harley to grin like a loon. He truly is a love struck idiot. The realization doesn't upset him as much as he feels it should. 

"There's no way my day can be anything but wonderful after that," Harley decides, cheeks hurting from the size of his smile. 

Laughing, Peter ducks his forehead to lay on Harley's collarbone. "Good." 

Hands moving of their own accord, Harley ends up with one scratching Peter's scalp lightly, the other resting pleasantly at the base of his spine. They stay wrapped up in each other for a few minutes, content to merely be. 

"Hey Harls," Peter says, voice muffled and barely reaching Harley. 

"Hm?"

"Does this mean you're my boyfriend?" He asks, tilting his head back up and expression seemingly nervous. 

This must be a figment of Harley's imagination, because this is too good to be true. Peter kissing him and wanting to be his boyfriend on the same day? Not possible. Discretely, he pinches himself to check, and nope, not a dream. He kisses the tip of Peter's nose in excitement. "If you'll have me, then I'd definitely like to be your boyfriend." 

The smile Peter wears is different from any Harley's seen before. It's brilliant and breathtaking and beautiful. All of which are apt descriptions of Peter Parker himself.

Peter bounces on his toes. "We need to have a first date." 

"Got anything in particular in mind?"

A small pout forms on his face as he sifts through whatever ideas are sprinting around his brain. "How about a movie night?" He suggests. 

"What would this movie night entail, exactly?" 

The pout is replaced by a mischievous smirk. "The usual. Popcorn, bad movies, more kissing, an endless amount of candy. And maybe some hot chocolate after. Thoughts?"

Even if he wanted to, there's not a single way Harley would be able to say no. Turning down that adorable face has to be a criminal offense punishable by an outrageous fine or something. Nevertheless, he pretends to ponder his options, before saying, "I think I can get behind that idea." 

Peter smacks a wet kiss on his cheek. "Great! Until then, we're going to help the poor, struggling interns."

"You're kindheartedness amazes me," Harley says, rolling his eyes. "I'm sure this has nothing to do with the fact that our labs are currently being cleaned out and that you like that the interns need you." 

"You're the one who made the labs hazardous. Well, more hazardous. This one's on you, cowboy," Peter tells him with entirely too much enthusiasm. 

Harley narrows his eyes at him. "I didn't hear any denial of my second claim."

"Whatever." Peter sticks his tongue out at him, like the mature young adult that he is. 

"Still no denial," Harley sing-songs. 

Peter's hand lightly hits his ribs. "Shut up and let's go," he says.

"As you wish," Harley replies diligently.

"I can't believe you just quoted _The Princess Bride_ at me. Have you gone soft?" 

Harley scoffs. He follows Peter to the elevator and down to the work floors, completely aware that he has, indeed, 'gone soft'. To be completely honest, he couldn't care less. If loving—shit, loving? Whatever, he'll think about that later—Peter makes him this way then there's no way it's a bad thing, because Peter tends to bring out the best in people. 

As expected, the interns go absolutely insane fighting over what group gets to have Peter with them today. Harley stays to the back, watching his genius boyfriend try to help everyone in amusement. Catching his gaze, Peter begs him with a look to help, but Harley is having entirely too much fun. Besides, they want Peter's help, and Harley's much too content sitting on the sidelines and cheering him on.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harley and Peter are disgustingly domestic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the last one ?? wild. have some more parkner fluff

Doing the dishes is a chore that Harley oddly enjoys—unless someone told him to do it, that is. So he typically does the dishes by hand, ignoring the extremely capable dishwasher to the left of the sink. Today is no different. 

Peter sitting at the kitchen island drawing, though, that is a new development. It's a nice change in Harley's opinion. 

"FRI," Harley says, "Can you play my purple heart spotify playlist, please." 

Instead of answering, FRIDAY immediately shuffles the songs. Harley tilts his head, listening to the opening notes of "Lover" by Taylor Swift and deeming it an acceptable song for the moment. 

"Your purple heart playlist, huh?" Peter teases. "Who's that one for? Anyone I should be worried about?"

Harley rolls his eyes. "It's for my dearest boyfriend." 

"Hmm," Peter hums, "I suppose that's acceptable." He pulls his sketchbook out from his backpack, presumably flipping to an open page. Snorting a quiet laugh, Harley turns to start up the dishes, Peter retrieves a pencil and begins drawing lightly. 

They create an easy, open environment. Both of them sing, Harley loudly and Peter under his breath as he concentrates on the paper in front of him. Although, the few dishes take longer to finish than they should due to Harley's extravagant antics and dance moves. He can admit that he's sort of a drama queen, but only in his head. At one point, he even dips onto one knee to serenade Peter. Truly, a work of genius. Maybe he should join the theater? Now there's a thought. 

Peter, however, seems to find Harley's methods silly. That's not to say it's not charming or hilarious, because Harley knows that he is indeed both of those things, at all times. That doesn't stop Peter from titling his drawing of Harley very gracefully dancing around the kitchen as "Harley being an idiot." Harley can't find it in himself to be offended. 

Soon, "Lover" is transitioning into Chris Stapleton's "Tennessee Whiskey," and Harley is dragging a reluctant Peter from his perch at the counter. 

Grinning, Harley says, “Come on, darlin’. We have to dance to this song, it’s like a law.” 

“A southern law?” Peter questions, voice skeptical. 

Harley shrugs. “Eh, more like a Harley law.” 

A fond shake of the head. “You’re a dork. And I don’t know how to dance.” 

“You don’t know how to-” Harley exclaims, “Well then what the fuck are they even teaching in elementary school?” Don’t know how to dance, how could no one teach these people to two-step and waltz? The idea is preposterous. Harley had learned many dances, starting in kindergarten, and there are people who never experienced that? 

Peter’s forehead creases. “Um, useful things?” He suggests. 

“Dancing is useful,” Harley scoffs. “Can’t believe you don’t know how to dance. We’ll talk about that later. It’s easy. Just follow my lead.”

Pulling Peter to his chest, Harley fits his chin on top of Peter’s curls. He positions Peter’s left hand on his shoulder, then wraps his right hand around the small of Peter’s back, the left gripping Peter’s other hand in his. 

“This is nice,” Peter sighs. Yeah, that’s definitely worth not teaching Peter the proper dancing position. Who likes proper anyway? Certainly not either of them. 

Chuckling, Harley moves them into a dance, the basic step-close-step coming naturally to him at this point. To be fair, it has been drilled into his head from a young age. 

Unfortunately, Peter doesn’t have that luxury. Thus, their movement is stilted, cut up by the occasional misstep. Harley doesn’t mind, he just keeps singing along. 

On a whim, he spins Peter, delighting in his unprepared squeak. It’s cute. He brings Peter face-to-face with him, holding him the typical way, and smiles adoringly. 

The blush on Peter’s face as Harley croons the chorus to him is frankly the loveliest thing Harley has ever seen. He’s probably expressed that sentiment before, but he figures it’ll keep changing over time as Peter persists in being incredibly pretty. 

Peter misses a step, overcorrects, and steps on Harley’s toes. Instead of apologizing like Harley thinks he’s going to, Peter laughs and says, “I’m really not good at this.” 

“You’re doing fairly well, actually,” Harley tells him, eyes crinkling in the corners. “Not bad for a beginner spider baby, at least.” 

“Don’t lie to me, Harls, that’s rude.” 

“Would I lie to you, sunshine?”

The flat look Peter gives him is answer enough. Which, honestly, isn’t even fair, because Harley hasn’t lied to him once. “You wound me,” Harley deadpans. 

“Good.” 

Gasping, Harley spins Peter again. He laughs openly at the momentary lapse in balance. Stupid spider powers making him somewhat graceful even when he shouldn’t be. 

They return to a slow embrace, letting the last of the song wash over them and ease their steps. Once it ends, Harley darts forward to kiss the side of Peter’s mouth, moving away just as quickly. 

Peter pouts at him. “Hey. Come back and give me more kisses,” he demands, arms crossing over his chest to seem intimidating. That’s a hard look to achieve when he is the literal embodiment of a puppy. It only serves to make him more adorable, as most things are wont to do. 

“Sorry, love, I have to go finish the dishes.” 

“You don’t  _ have _ to,” Peter counters. 

An over-the-top wink and another lightning fast peck are Harley’s only response before he’s taking purposeful strides towards the sink. 

“You’re the worst,” Peter complains, but still follows at a slower pace. He settles back into his seat, plucking up his pencil once again. 

Harley hums in thought. “I’ll give you more kisses when I finish this. That is, if you want me to even though I’m ‘the worst’,” he says, finger quotes and all. 

Tapping his eraser against the counter, Peter says, “I think that can be arranged.” 

“Wonderful. A pleasure doing business with you, Peter.” His tone takes on that of a stuffy businessman that’s sole focus is to acquire as many zeroes on the check as possible. That’s the mindset of most people in this capitalist society, though. 

“And with you, Harley.” Peter replicates the tone, bursting into giggles the second the last word is out of his mouth. Harley joins in a moment later. 

They finish their respective tasks, music giving them nice, serene background noise. After drying his hands on a towel, Harley snatches up Peter’s sketchbook and flips through some of us his pieces. He’s taken aback by how absolutely phenomenal every drawing is. 

“I cannot believe you tried to say you’re bad at this,” Harley scolds lightly. 

Peter shrugs helplessly. “I’m not that great.” 

Harley desperately wants to call bullshit, but thinks better of it. It would only serve to make Peter uncomfortable; he’ll find other ways to convince Peter that his work is astounding. And if he secretly plans on buying some frames to hang a few of Peter’s drawings? Well, that’s an issue Peter can take up with him at a later date. 

“I’d like to renegotiate the terms of our agreement,” Harley declares. 

“Uh uh,” Peter says, “No take backsies.” 

“‘Take backsies’?” Harley repeats. “What are you, five?” 

“Shut it, cowboy.” 

Harley raises his hands in surrender. “I simply wish to have one more dance before we delve into those kisses you ordered, darlin’.”

Peter gives a singular nod. “Okay, but you owe me tons of kisses.” 

“Deal,” Harley concedes. “FRIDAY can you please skip until you get to ‘Beautiful Crazy’ by Luke Combs?” 

“Of course, Potato Child.” Will he ever be rid of that nickname? Probably not, unfortunately. 

This time, Peter grabs hold of Harley, obviously wanting to get this over with as soon as possible. Harley leads them through the steps, singing sweetly into Peter’s soft curls. 

Before they know it, one song turns into two, and two into three. They dance and laugh and Peter trips over himself and Harley. 

And it’s perfect. 

The third song ends, and Peter finally leans away. Harley mourns the loss of Peter’s body held against his own immediately. 

Scrunching his nose, Peter says, “I was promised kisses.” 

The temptation to press his lips to the tip of Peter’s nose is too great. “That you were, spider baby.” 

“Yay,” Peter breathes, already pulling Harley’s face down to meet his.

Harley huffs a laugh, bending the rest of the way to reach Peter. 

All Harley can think of as their lips connect, is that he hopes the rest of his time on this crazy, dying planet is spent like this. Realistically, he knows it won’t be. There will be villains to face and battles to fight, obstacles to get through, disagreements to work out. 

But if even a fraction of the days afforded to him are spent with Peter in his arms, or simply in his presence, it’ll be a life well spent. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the ending is so cheesy i know but i'm so soft for them i'm sorry
> 
> thank you guys v much for reading this :) i hope you enjoyed it


End file.
